L'Oustal

Score: 14/20

By coincidence, it had been three years to the day. Three long years since a first visit to L'Oustal, then a proudly Gallic new bistro in the increasingly beautiful Albert Park village.

I was back - partly - because it was time. But there was another reason.

Somewhere between main course and dessert, the proprietor, who is working the not particularly busy floor this evening, says: "Did you know we have a new chef?"

Well, yes. We mentioned it in Epicure last year when founding chef Danny Southern took off (he takes off in an even bigger way next month when Bistro Guillaume opens, with Southern running the kitchen).

"There's another new chef."

We go out to check a restaurant under the stewardship of Southern's successor, only to discover it's now in the hands of her successor, six months later.

L'Oustal is owned by a husband/wife team (her French, he Australian) who employ kitchen expertise. The latest is head chef Darren Morgan, a Brit who recently decamped the Mansion Hotel at Werribee, we're told.

Fortunately, while chefs come and go, none of the small restaurant's simple charm has disappeared; it still exudes a polished informality, a state wherein all is done with style and care but without pretence.

As observed previously, timber floors and timber tables draped with burgundy-striped narrow cloths and napkins of matching fabric give the place a fresh, casual feel. A burgundy/pink feature wall at the back of the restaurant provides a window - the pass - to the kitchen and a marble-topped timber bar provides a workstation for the staff. The Frenchness is subtle; with a variety of quirky souvenirs of other times and other places, the place exudes a bit of the owners' character.

It's a dining room to relax in, and you can because little things such as water, wine, bread and even a little pre-dinner taste of tete de veau with a tomato relish are taken care of without a second thought on the part of the diner. The way it should be.

L'Oustal's menu seems fairly evenly split between nostalgic classics and more modern interpretations of French ideas. Hence, "Les entrees" include snails in the manner of Burgundy with parsley and garlic butter, and a French onion soup with bone marrow toast on one side of the ledger (offaly offerings seem to have been pared back, but it's probably the season); on the other, things such as my tuna ($19), a modern homage to salade Nicoise that worked well.

On a plate drizzled with a bright and fruity/tangy syrup I'm assuming to be the "tomato glace" mentioned on the menu, there are halved beans, black olives and three discs of herb-crusted tuna that has been seared for a nanosecond, leaving the vast majority sashimi-like. Elsewhere are white anchovies (the pickled ones), a bit of olive paste and those ubiquitous oeufs, halved quails eggs. It's a refreshing but not particularly new dish.

A garlicky and rather chunky boudin blanc - not at all the fine white sausage mousse you might expect but none the worse for it - is served on a buttery potato puree (banger with mash), sweet and dark caramelised shallots and a glossy, excellent red-wine sauce. The menu mentions foie gras in a way that suggests it's whipped through the potato: it's undetectable ($17).

Mains have all taken the Reserve Bank's lead and taken a percentage increase or two since the last meal; they start at $31, finish at $36.

The pleasant rather than spectacular $200 meal out has well and truly arrived. For example, $32 buys six red mullet fillets fried crispish in a pan, served skin-side up alongside a pleasant salad of rocket, shaved fennel and orange. The fish is lovely; so is the salad. But there's not a lot of magic in the dish, no little chef trick that separates him from me.

A slab of pork belly ("ventreche de porc d'Otway", if you don't mind) has been cooked slowly and in such a way as to render out the oil, leave the gelatinous inter-muscle layers and preserve the flavour and texture of the meat. It also has a crisp skin, a crunchiness augmented by a garnish of crisp pig's ear, various cresses, batons of green apple and a fruity/acidic white raisin vinaigrette. It's all enjoyable without offering visions beyond the horizon.

Personally, however, regardless of the level of amenity offered by the restaurant, I reckon a $31 price tag when the principal protein item is so inexpensive and needs augmenting (we bought fries and beans for another $14) is a bit of an ask. With the side dishes, it really was a complete $38 main; a piece of beautiful fish, yes, and a great steak, of course. But pork belly?

A cherry clafoutis ($15) served in a rustic earthenware dish was of the less-traditional style, with a pastry base rather than simply a batter poured over whole fruit. Sadly, its base was not thoroughly cooked out. A generous dollop of sour cream, and a dusting of icing sugar finished a fairly unremarkable dessert.

Far, far better was the individual, cylindrical parfait: textbook texture, strong favours and aromas of Armagnac and the tart fruitiness of a prune base and centre layer gave the dish interest, variation and dimension. It's finished with heavily reduced vanilla syrup.

As you would expect, L'Oustal offers four cheeses (all French, from different regions), and all complementary. We didn't try any, however. We were, after all, there to sample the "new" chef's work.

And, had I known it was only his third week, I'd quite possibly have waited; but then the restaurateurs of Melbourne are not renowned for communicating.

L'Oustal remains a fairly delightful spot for dinner, anathema to the over-designed barns with an ever-changing roster of staff (L'Oustal's head waiter is excellent). But the food has lost a little magic, a little passion, and the restaurant seems suspended somewhere between simple rustic local and a place aiming for more culinary recognition.

Score: 19: Unacceptable. 10-11: Just OK, some shortcomings. 12: Fair. 13: Getting there. 14: Recommended. 15: Good. 16: Really good. 17: Truly excellent. 18: Outstanding. 19-20: Approaching perfection, Victoria's best.